


Steadfast

by vibidi



Series: A Study in Flight [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Dissociation, Flashbacks, M/M, Nightmares, Permanent Injury, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Self-Referential Ableist Language, Survivor Guilt, Unreliable Narrator, Yuri Plisetsky's Snark Could Make a Sailor Blush, mild sexual innuendo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:55:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vibidi/pseuds/vibidi
Summary: After surviving the impossible, Yuri is left to cope with career-ending injuries and Otabek is haunted by those he couldn't save. Supporting one another may be the only way to move on, but their shared trauma threatens to tear them apart instead.





	1. Broken Wings

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a sequel to [Broken Wings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9804686/chapters/22017548). It's highly suggested you read that first, as this story will make little sense without that context.
> 
> Finals are over and I'm hoping to update fairly regularly!
> 
> Mind the tags, though some won't be relevant in the beginning. Consider them little sneak peeks. The character tags definitely _will_ be updated as time goes on, but I'm not 100% sure which other characters I'll be using yet. We'll see.

The program was etched into his bones. Yuri didn’t think as he flew into a quad Salchow, felt no exhaustion as the landing transformed seamlessly into a triple toe. The roar of the audience had gone hollow, replaced in his mind’s eye by flashing fragments of memories. Katsudon pirozhki and grandpa’s smile clouding out the winter chill, Viktor’s patient tutelage, Yuuri and Yuuko’s confounding yet unending support, Otabek’s firm, reassuring grip as they shook hands. He let them guide him as he danced and twisted to the sound of angelic hymn and marching drums. 

Music and emotion drove him in equal parts as he dug his pick into the ice and entered his last jump. Both arms above his head, amazing height, +3 GOE for sure. None of it concerned Yuri, though, not when he felt like he could spread his wings and never touch the ground again. 

But the landing did come. The back of his blade took all of his weight and he pitched to one side, skidding across the ice as the momentum carried his legs over and under him until he came to a halt. Frost coated his face and the rink fell away, replaced by claustrophobic darkness and such terrible cold that he could hardly breathe. Everything hurt and he was trapped, _he was trapped,_ he couldn’t move and oh god he was going to _die_ here! 

The dark clawed forward, morphed into a horrible amalgamation of severed arms and legs before swallowing him whole. 

Yuri screamed and jolted awake. 

A white wall faced him, joined by a door on one side and window on the other. Memories trickled back into his mind and he rested his good arm on his neck, trying to subdue the furious pulse dancing just below the surface. His hand slipped and came away clammy and coated in sweat. Fuck, he was a mess.

The door opened and Yuri’s back straightened as he turned to stare at the arrivals. Dr. Wang and… and Beka, his complexion pale and his eyes bloodshot, the firm set of his jaw grim and unfamiliar. 

“Are you alright, Mr. Plisetsky? I hear you were having a bad dream,” the doctor ventured.

Yuri dredged his thoughts for some witty rejoinder but none came, nothing broke the hollow echo of screeching metal and moaning mountain wind. 

He puffed out his lower lip and opened his free arm instead. Otabek took the offer immediately and came to sit next to him on the bed.

With his best friend’s hands twining around his own, the background noise faded and Yuri found it in him to answer. “Yeah. But I’m fine now. What day is it?”

“November 27th,” she answered. Yuri noticed she’d brought her clipboard again, and scowled as she wrote on it. 

Otabek squeezed his hand, dragging his attention away from the object that was quickly becoming his archnemesis. “You fell asleep while we were watching videos yesterday. It’s around 11:30 in the morning now.”

“Which is a very good sign,” Dr. Wang added, offering a soft smile. “It means your body may be readjusting to a regular sleep schedule. Now, how are you feeling today?”

Yuri frowned and stared out at the distant mountains. What would a doctor want to hear? Something optimistic, probably. “Awake. Bored.”

Close enough.

Once the doctor had assured herself that he wasn’t about to leap out the window or run screaming down the halls, she called a nurse in to remove the feeding tube that they’d stuck in his throat. The small, unassuming lady barely spoke as she laid a sheet over his chest and fiddled with the tube, which left it to Dr. Wang to utter a sudden warning of the oncoming discomfort just moments before the nurse began pinching the tube and pulling. 

Yuri retched in a reflexive gag. Otabek’s hands tightened around his but it still felt like minutes, not seconds, before the wretched thing was out of his body. 

He spat bile onto the sheet, narrowly missing the nurse’s hands, and bit his tongue to stifle a cough. Opting to clear his throat instead only invited a throbbing ache.

The sensation wasn’t pleasant by any stretch of the imagination, but a small part of Yuri still preferred it to the possibility of being left alone with his thoughts. He knew the doubts that lurked just below his consciousness, eager for an opportunity to seize him and drag him down. And he was prepared to do just about anything to evade them.

The medical procedures blended into one another over the next hour. The only constant was Otabek’s presence, his firm hands when they let him close and the heat of his tired but determined gaze when he had to step aside and watch. Yuri tried talking to him whenever the chance seemed to present itself, but Dr. Wang and the nurse would always intervene with some new check or question designed specifically to torture him and keep him from his friend.

At least Yuri came out of it with the TV remote and a bowl of warm white rice. When the staff finally left the room he leaned back in bed and let out a long, self-indulgent whine. 

By the time he ran out of air and his groan petered out into a cough, Yuri had expected Otabek to say something. He’d ended up leaning on the opposite wall and staring out the window as though something was on his mind, but hey, he wasn’t the only one. 

“Distract me,” Yuri said bluntly. 

Otabek turned to face him, maintaining an expressionless mask. A year’s worth of experience did nothing to help Yuri discern his thoughts. “Don’t watch TV,” he finally said.

“Why not?”

“NHK Trophy is over and the crash is everywhere in the news. Figure you don’t want to hear about the media circus right now.” He crossed the room and stood by the single chair opposite the bed, and Yuri realized there’d been a backpack there. Where had Otabek gotten his hands on one of those? And for that matter, where’d he get that tweed peacoat? 

Yuri scarfed down a mouthful of rice as Otabek pulled a roll of laminated paper out of the backpack, but a response escaped him. Just because he felt better than yesterday didn’t mean he had any idea what was going on. 

“Here.” Otabek sat on the edge of the bed and unrolled the sheet, revealing what Yuri quickly recognized as a map of Asia. He pointed to the Westernmost corner of Mongolia, then redirected Yuri’s attention over the border into China. “This is where we crashed, and this is where we are now. You’re in the Altay People’s Hospital, and you were in a coma for almost two weeks.”

 _Two weeks?_

“Grandpa,” Yuri demanded, “how is he?”

Otabek put the map aside and rested a hand on Yuri’s. “He’s fine, Yura. Worried sick, but he knows you’re going to be okay. Yakov said to expect a letter from him soon.”

Of course- grandpa, Yakov, Lilia, all the others. They probably hadn’t had a very good couple of weeks either. Yuri pulled his hand away and avoided eye contact. There was nothing on earth he wanted more than to be with grandpa, pretending none of this had happened, rewinding the clock even further so he wouldn’t have to worry about paying bills or putting food on the table either… how was he going to do that now? Oh god, if he couldn’t skate, they’d be on the street soon enough, and it’d be his fault. Grandpa wouldn’t last a month, and mama…

“Yura? You with me?” 

Otabek’s deep brown eyes bored into him. Yuri faltered under the intensity of his gaze, caught between blurting out all his fears and burying them all as deep as he could, as though it’d make them go away. He bit his lower lip before responding. “I’m with you.”

“Then trust me. There will be time to look to the future, but you need to be on solid ground first,” Otabek advised. He opened his palm and this time Yuri took his hand, nodding silently. It probably was best to let Beka do the talking. Yuri _felt_ alert, but for all he knew he could be drugged up on painkillers and about as coherent as a crackhead. It was probably a lot more obvious to anyone nearby than it was to him.

“I’ll tell you what I know, but I’m going to leave out your injuries,” Otabek warned. 

Yuri swallowed a gulp of air and could have sworn he felt it growing into a lump of nausea in the pit of his stomach. He set the tray aside. “Yeah. Okay.”

There was a brief silence as Otabek stood and brought the chair over to stand next to Yuri’s bed, leaving the backpack and its contents to the side. He sat down and offered his hand again, and Yuri took it gladly. 

They were the only survivors, he learned. Hunters from a small Mongolian city had reported seeing the plane go down and international rescuers had tried for two days to reach the crash site, but the weather had stopped the first two teams and nearly dashed the third against a jagged cliffside before they finally made it. 

There was something morbidly amusing about it, Yuri thought. Otabek’s story of waking up in the hospital faded into background noise as he wondered if it’d have been easier for everyone if there hadn’t been a rescue effort at all. After all, it’d nearly killed a whole team, and probably cost a lot of money for a lot of people. And in the end, it’d only been for two lives. _More like one and a half,_ he corrected as his gaze was drawn to the casts that surrounded both his legs.

Damn, he kept going back to that. Whether it was true or not, it didn’t matter right now. Not when Otabek was trying so hard to keep his mind off it. Yuri forcibly dragged his thoughts back to the present and nodded understandingly as Otabek described the vigil that had been held in place of a gala at the Trophée de France. It had been all over the internet by the time Otabek had been discharged and gone to stay in a hotel with his mother.

“Wait, your mother?” Yuri interrupted.

Otabek nodded. “She came to Altay as soon as she could when they called. I don’t know what I’d… I’m glad she’s here. She reminds me not to skip meals,” he admitted, and the way his eyes searched the room but avoided Yuri made it clear he was being evasive.

“And…?” he pressed.

With a resigned sigh, Otabek met his stare. Was that a flush on his cheeks or was Yuri hallucinating? “She makes sure I don’t spend all day at your bedside,” he muttered. 

The heat creeping up Yuri’s face made him suspect they were both red now. He scratched the back of his semi-casted hand and looked out the window. “You like watching me sleep, huh?”

“No! I wanted to be here to get a doctor if something went wrong,” Otabek tried to explain. “When you started tossing and turning-”

Yuri rolled his eyes and swatted at him. “Relax, Beka, it was a joke.”

Hadn’t it been obvious? Yuri assumed so, but Otabek’s earnest worry told another story. Maybe he really was making as much sense as a drug addict. “Anyway, what’s with all the flowers?” he asked, hoping Otabek wanted to change the subject as much as he did.

“Gifts.” A rare smile graced the other skater’s face as he stood and walked to the ledge. “Everyone sent something. Want to open them?”

“Hell yeah,” Yuri replied, letting curiosity cloud away self-doubt. 

The flowers, as it turned out, had been sent by the Crispino twins, along with balloons from Phichit, a stack of musical albums from Leo de la Iglesia, and two other bouquets from Guang Hong Ji and Emil Nekola. Chris, of course, had gone a step further and sent a huge box of Swiss chocolates, and even Seung-gil Lee had opted to send a puzzle book. 

Other gifts were more personal. An unassuming brown box revealed a cat-eared onesie and set of black clothes from the Nishigori family, accompanied by a long and loving note. Mila, Georgi, and the other skaters back in St. Petersburg had sent a huge bag filled with all his favourite snacks and movies. Hidden behind them all was a wooden box with a letter written in Japanese and English, signed by the Katsuki family.

Otabek had to open the box, of course, but that didn’t stop Yuri’s sharp intake of breath when he saw the contents. Lying in the wrapping paper was every forgotten necessity he could have asked for and then some: a watch, leopard print socks, post-it notes, all kinds of toiletries. Nestled in the middle of it all lay an iPhone with headphones coiled on top. 

“They don’t have that kind of money,” he breathed. “Beka, I can’t… we have to send it back.”

“If you want to give it back, wait until you’re out of the hospital,” Otabek suggested, and Yuri cursed him for being so pragmatic. He couldn’t accept a gift that cost more than everything grandpa had given him on his birthday for the past three years. 

“Pass me the letter,” Yuri asked, then promptly thought the better of it. “Wait, can you read it to me? I’m not awake enough for Mari’s handwriting.”

“I can do that,” Otabek agreed. 

As it turned out, there’d been an upturn in business since Yuuri’s career picked up again, and the family was offering all sorts of free care and coddling once he was out of the hospital. If he hadn’t had time to get used to the overbearing affection Yuri might have found it stifling, but by this point he was just glad to have their support, even if he’d never admit it aloud. 

The phone came with a black case sporting half a tiger’s face in vivid colour, roughly outlined as though it’d been spray painted onto a wall. Hand-picked by Mari and approved by Yuuri over Skype, the note informed.

It was almost enough to help Yuri forget the crushing fear that prickled at the edges of his thoughts. Almost. 

He had to keep thinking, keep talking and distracting himself so the fear didn’t catch up. “Hey Beka, what about Viktor and Katsudon? Did they get stingy?”

“Actually…” Otabek let the word hang in silence as he dug through his backpack and came back up with a laptop. “They wanted to talk to you as soon as you were ready for it.”

Yuri wasn’t ready, of course, and somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that. Otabek probably did too. 

But he nodded anyway, and babbled about how lame the couple’s season routines were as they put away the half-eaten bowl of rice and set up the laptop on the tray. As Otabek turned the power on, connected to the internet, and set up the call, Yuri stubbornly refused the nagging voice that told him to slow down.

“It’s early in St. Petersburg,” Otabek explained, “so it might take a few tries before they pick up, but they said they’d keep the computer on and it’d wake them up sooner or later.”

Yuri scoffed. “They really love bothering me that much, huh? Well if they call me their son, I’m hanging up on them, and you can’t stop me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Otabek smirked. 

Then the laptop’s repetitive ringing lifted and a blurry image of two goddamn men and their goddamn dog nearly brought Yuri to tears. 

“Yuri!” they shouted almost in unison. He didn’t know why they’d dropped the stupid nickname, but he was glad they did. 

He squared his shoulders before replying to make sure his voice didn’t shake. “Hey.”

The video crackled as waves of pixelation rose and fell with the flimsy connection, but he could make out a king-sized bed beneath them and orange light sneaking in through closed blinds at the side. 

“Yuri, we’re so glad you’re safe,” Yuuri said in careful Russian.

“Yeah, so am I,” Yuri replied awkwardly, switching to English and leaning against Otabek for support. Sounded like Katsudon had rehearsed this. “You guys can call another time, you know. I’m not going anywhere.”

Yuuri shook his head, though it barely registered through the blur. “It’s fine, Yuri, we wanted to talk to you as soon as we could and see how you were feeling.”

“I came _this_ close to fucking dying, how do you think I feel?” Yuri snapped.

The badly-lit blob that was Viktor sat up and began patting Makkachin, but didn’t speak. Yuuri took his free hand and continued. “Listen, Yuri… we’re always here to help. Unconditionally. I know how overwhelming everything must be right now.”

Yuri snorted. “Do you, though? You ever been in a plane crash, pig?”

The screen stuttered and went still for a second. When it resumed, Viktor’s shoulders were shaking and Yuuri’s hands were on them. Wait, fuck, was he crying? Shit. 

Yuri ground his teeth in frustration. “Chin up, asshole, you’re not the one in the hospital.”

“We shouldn’t have let this happen.” Viktor’s voice was quavering and no matter how much he hoped the shitty wifi was to blame, Yuri knew that wasn’t the cause. “Yuuri, if I’d just told him to listen to Yakov, I could have stopped-”

“Who cares?” Yuri interrupted. He clenched his jaw as though it could stop the other Russian’s tears from infecting him. Why did Viktor always fucking pull this shit? The corners of his eyes prickled as indignation boiled into rage. “Why the hell are _you_ crying? My legs are fucked and I’m never skating again. Go take your pity party somewhere else, you crotchety son of a whore!”

Two tears rolled down Viktor’s cheeks in unison as he looked into camera. “Yurotchka, I didn’t mean…”

“Didn’t mean to make it about you? But you did, you nasty fucking shit licker! Like you always do!” Yuri reached for the top of the laptop, ignoring Otabek’s tight grip on his shoulder. “Do what you’re best at and eat shit, Nikiforov!”

“Yuri wait-” 

Yuuri didn’t have a chance to finish. Yuri shut the laptop and pushed it into Otabek’s hands. No no no, he was crying, goddamnit, fucking Viktor! 

In a matter of seconds the laptop was gone and Otabek’s arms were wrapped around him, forming a protective barrier against everything but his own self-destructive thoughts. Yuri shook his head until he was dizzy then kept going regardless.

“I’m sorry, Yura,” Otabek whispered.

No, that wasn’t fucking right, why should _his Beka_ be apologizing for that stupid old man? For the hell they’d been through, for his broken legs? “Stop apologizing,” he gasped, grasping at coat until he found warm skin and clung to that instead. “Never apologize, _zolotse,_ you fucking saved my life, I’d be rotting up there if… if you… fuck…”

“Yura, you should get some rest.” His tone was warning. 

Yuri broke free of the embrace. “I don’t care! I’m done tiptoeing around everything that happened to us and I’m sick of pretending I’m going to be okay and I’m done ignoring whatever… whatever we are.”

“ _Yura_.” Otabek took a firm hold on his shoulders, and Yuri only realized then that he’d been hunched over and shouting. He was probably pushing Beka away too, just like Viktor and Katsudon, but at this rate it’d be poetic justice, wouldn’t it? _I really should have just died on that mountain and saved everyone the trouble,_ he thought viciously. 

Otabek was saying something. Yuri crossed his good arm over his chest and glared, ready to start yelling if he had to.

“Please, just wait for tomorrow.”

Yuri had never heard Otabek Altin beg, but this sounded suspiciously like how he might imagine it. His eyes narrowed and he set his arm down as he listened.

“You’re not stupid, Yura. You know as well as I do that you’re not thinking straight.”

Fair enough. One point for Team Reason.

“I told you. I want to figure out where to go from here too. But not until you’re out of the hospital.”

Two points. Wasn’t looking good for the defending team. Yuri had to try something. “Easy for you to say, when you only got out with scratches and bruises. Move on already, why are you still here? You’re still you and I’m a fucking useless cripple.”

“Enough, Yuri.” Otabek stood stiffly and slung his backpack over his arm. Ah, shit. His tone never changed when he was mad, but putting away the nicknames was a surefire sign that Yuri had pissed him off. “I’m going for a walk. Be back later.”

The prospect of being left alone rose up like a venomous serpent as Otabek walked towards the door. “No, Beka, wait. Shit. Please.”

Otabek glanced at him over his shoulder, and Yuri noticed again how pale he was. 

The words stuck in his throat like they knew this was a bad idea, but he forced them into the open anyway. “I love you.”

Silence stretched between them. Otabek didn’t blink, didn’t turn away, just stared him down with that one _look_ that left him impossibly bare and vulnerable. 

Then like a needle to one of the balloons hovering by the window, he spoke. “Sleep, Yura. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

The door closed behind him before Yuri had a chance to reply.


	2. Reburn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact i scrapped and rewrote this chapter three times  
> made some executive decisions that should lead to a faster update schedule but life's been kinda rude lately sry  
> good thing i can torture my babies to feel better lmao

Otabek didn’t come the next day.

He’d said he would. But he didn’t. And Yuri knew what it meant. 

And lying alone in a small hospital room, Yuri couldn’t escape the sound of his own stupid confession ringing in his head like a courtroom verdict. Guilty of falling for his friend after they’d fallen thirty thousand feet out of the sky. Sentenced to spend the rest of his useless life alone. 

By the time the sun began descending back toward the earth he’d lied about his levels of pain so that the doctors increased the dosage of painkillers. They’d done their job and he slept into the night, fleeing from the nameless horrors that still lingered in the corners of his mind. 

 

The next morning was hardly better. Yuri’s appetite had grown slowly but surely and he’d wolfed down a breakfast of rice pudding, tea eggs, and honeydew slices, even though it’d nearly made him sick. The food provided a short-lived distraction but the doctors wouldn’t give him more. They’d opted instead to leave him alone to fight his own mind in a room filled with stale air and steadily beeping monitors that were enough to drive even the calmest patients batshit crazy. 

Yuri stared out at the impossibly distant world past his window. Steel-wool clouds had given birth to snow overnight and the city had gone silent under its oppressive weight; not even the chatter of passers-by or the din of traffic existed to distract him now. 

Boredom had always driven him up the wall. Thoughts were wily: they were a foe he couldn’t fight, couldn’t beat, and no matter how far he chased them into the recesses of his mind they always crept back out to give him hell. Yuri would take the competition of other skaters or the so-called “limitations” of his own body over the opposition of an omnipresent and indestructible foe any day. 

And even when he had to face them, at least the thoughts had been bearable. Paying for Grandpa’s meds and Mama’s debt wasn’t much of a concern so long as he kept clawing his way to the podium. Puberty’s devious wolves could be tamed with enough hard work and dedication. And loneliness was never hard to solve. The ice had always been there for him even when nobody else was. 

But now. Now he might as well be dead and he’d pushed away the one person that’d been there for him.

Yuri let out a long, shuddering breath. Scanned the room for something to occupy himself with. The puzzle book looked dry and headache-inducing but he’d probably have tried it if it wasn’t sitting on the far side of the ledge. Balloons and flowers were no help.

His eyes settled on the phone the Katsukis had sent him. After sneaking a furtive glance at the door on the far side of the room he shuffled to the side of the hospital bed and reached out, straining until he was just able to grasp the phone and headphones then pulling them back with a triumphant surge of energy. Setting it up would take a few hours, right? And then he could bother the doctors for more pain meds and knock himself out again.

When he opened the home screen, however, he was met with a page full of apps and a lock screen of the family, minus Yuuri, making heart signs with their hands.

If Yuri’s eyes were wet then it was definitely the work of the dry air, not sudden and overwhelming gratitude. 

The phone told him many things, though its English language settings quickly began to grate on his nerves. It was November 30th at 9:37 AM. The temperature in Altay was -10° Celsius, or 30° Fahrenheit. Some poor asshole had won the lottery then been offed by an ex-wife. A reality TV star hooked up with a basketball player. Americans were squabbling about the nutritional value of pizza. And… 34 more bodies recovered from the wreckage of Aeroflot Flight 123.

Yuri closed and deleted the news app.

He checked everything else on the phone methodically and found that the Katsukis had left a number of hidden notes and messages. Welcoming the distraction with open arms, he started on a scavenger hunt for all the shreds of love and positivity they’d left behind.

Two hours passed and the notes ran out but Yuri had taken solace in the time-wasting games picked out by Mari. Adopting pet monsters, chopping fruit, and slinging birds at pigs had never been so engrossing.

A knock on the door broke his concentration. Dr. Wang was there, speaking, and he ripped the earbuds out just in time to hear the last few terrifying words of her message. He had a visitor. 

His heart dropped into his belly and dissolved at the thought of confronting Otabek after what he’d said last time. No, no fucking way. Not when he hadn’t even thought about it. The nausea returned full-force and broke over his levees in waves. As much as it made him want to hurl, it gave him an excuse.

Thinking quickly, he mumbled, “I’m feeling sick. No visitors.”

“Contact with other people will be good for you, Yuri,” the doctor pressed gently. “Maybe later?”

“Uh. Yeah. Sure,” Yuri coughed out. Close enough.

She disappeared back into the hall and he had a moment to rein in the rampant nausea as best he could. But she returned shortly with a bland, custodial smile. He’d be back at three, she said.

That gave him three hours to figure out how to explain whatever the fuck he’d been spouting two days ago. 

Did he mean it? Yes. There was no denying that. Was it a good time? No, there was no time or place that could possibly have been worse, actually. Yuri chewed on his lip and finally gave in to his worries as the doctor left to go care for other patients or do whatever else doctors did.

Should he lie? An answer to that question didn’t present itself immediately as with the first two. It was a terrifying, amorphous void, ready to eat him alive if he stepped too close. 

His gaze crept to the tv, to his phone, hell, even to Seung-gil’s lame little puzzle book. Everything in the room begged to provide a distraction and anything was better than even the thought of facing Otabek and owning up to his feelings. Especially at a time like this. _The actual fuck, Yuri? You’re going insane. Maybe this is all a fever dream and you’re still dying up on that mountainside,_ he thought sullenly.

This was too much. Three hours was plenty of time to think about it- he could waste a little more time listening to music. 

Yuri put the earbuds back in, shut his eyes, and tuned out the ruthless world that’d put him on a doomed plane and broken his wings.

 

It could have been two minutes or two hours when his new phone buzzed. A message from one Katsuki Yuuri. 

Yuri narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t checked the address book, but yeah… made sense that Yuuri had his number. 

He skimmed the contents. _Katsuki Yuuri: Hey Yuri, I hope you don’t mind getting messages right now. You can ignore or block me if you would prefer. I just wanted to know how you’re doing._

Well. It’d be easier to make small talk with the piggy than think about talking to Otabek. Once he’d changed Yuuri’s contact name to “Katsudon” he responded. _Yuri Plisetsky: I’m k._

After a brief and begrudging moment of hesitation he added, _Yuri Plisetsky: How’s the geezer_

A telltale [...] appeared a few times before Yuuri settled on a message. _Katsudon: He’s managing. I can pass along a message if there’s anything you want to tell him._

_Yuri Plisetsky: So he doesn’t have my number?  
Katsudon: No, just me and my family. Though I passed it along to Otabek and Mr. Feltsman. I hope that’s okay with you… I know you probably don’t want people breathing down your neck right now._

Oh fuck, Otabek had his phone number? God he was so fucked. There was no escape- it wasn’t like he could fucking run away, not with his useless broken legs. He couldn’t hold it against Yuuri, though. Not like the piggy knew about the shituation he’d gotten himself into with Otabek.

_Yuri Plisetsky: Whatever they’d have gotten it sooner or later anyway. Just tell him to concentrate on getting Russia another gold at the gpf_

There. That was a pretty good reply. Nice and noble, just the kind of thing that’d satisfy Yuuri so he stopped bothering him.

_Katsudon: I’ll do that. I wanted to ask, though… was it true? About your legs?_

Every time Yuri thought he might be able to bear the stupid pig, he pulled some shit like this. He’d have thrown his phone across the room if he’d been capable of going and picking it up after, but now he couldn’t even fucking do that. Useless piece of shit.

_Yuri Plisetsky: Yeah. They’re fucked. I’m fucked.  
Katsudon: Yuri…_

Yuri’s eyes were threatening to betray him but he scrunched up his face and refused to let any tears fall. 

_Yuri Plisetsky: I don’t want your fucking pity_

The [...] appeared four more times before Yuuri replied.

 _Katsudon: Sorry. I know. Just tell me if there’s anything I can do to help you._

The tears came anyway. Of course they did, because he was fucking weak like that. 

_Yuri Plisetsky: If you could build a time machine and stop us from getting on that plane that’d be great lol  
Katsudon: Yuri, I would sacrifice my own career if it meant yours didn’t have to end this way._

Despite his best efforts, Yuri’s silent tears graduated to full-on sobbing. He wanted to believe it wasn’t the truth but damn it he knew it was, fucking Katsudon, how could he say things like that? 

_Yuri Plisetsky: Thx  
Katsudon: Please call or text if you need anything at all. You DON’T have to do this alone._

He’d never seen Yuuri text with caps before. Not that they texted much, but… it wasn’t like him.

Yuri was about to reply when a knock at the door sent ice up his spine. Fuck, Otabek was back already and he didn’t have a plan, didn’t have anything close to a plan. 

“Yuri? Your visitor is back, and I think he’s got something for you.”

 _Fine. Okay. I’ve got this._ He could improvise. Yuri blew his nose on the bedsheets and nodded to the doctor. “Yeah, okay.”

When Otabek stepped through the doorway, Yuri couldn’t help but wonder if he was always this… small. Of course he was rather lean, as figure skaters were. Short for his age. But his presence had always been capable of filling an entire room, even if he didn’t say a word, even if he wasn’t trying at all.

Now he looked pale, worn, and pitiful. And it hurt Yuri like a punch in the face. 

“Sorry I didn’t come yesterday,” he said, setting his bag down next to the room’s sole chair. His voice and movements were mechanical. “I was busy during visiting hours.”

Yeah, right. If he didn’t look so sorry and pathetic Yuri might have called out the obvious lie for what it was. He bit down on the angry reply bubbling up in his throat and groped for a safer subject. “I want to rewatch the NHK Trophy,” he decided.

Otabek hesitated momentarily. He blinked a few times, face inscrutable as ever, then pulled up the chair and set his laptop down on the hospital bed. Yuri could only hope it wasn’t obvious that he’d just been crying. 

They ran through the men’s short programs and Yuri immersed himself in the competition, resolutely ignoring Beka’s shoulder brushing against his and shutting out his painful desire to be there on the ice with the others. 

Michele Crispino put on a strong performance in his short, and it was almost enough to make up for his pitiful score at Skate America. Some newcomer from Ireland put on a half-decent performance and landed in a close second. Seung-gil Lee blew them both out of the water with a new personal best. He’d have liked to see Leo skate, but he’d had to withdraw due to his injury at Skate Canada. 

Now that the two names he knew had gone and the rest didn’t pose potential threats- shit, he was still calling them that as though he’d ever be on the ice again- it was harder to avoid gravitating towards Otabek. He could feel tension in the small space between them, and Beka’s shoulders were stiff as though he wanted to pull away. It confirmed every terrifying suspicion that’d filled Yuri’s head all day. 

Yuri was trapped between letting thoughts of skating haunt him and opening up to Otabek, and neither prospect pleased him in the least. He searched the room again, trying to ignore the heat of Otabek’s curious gaze on him.

The backpack grabbed his attention. “Hey, the doctor said you brought something, right?”

Otabek nodded and stood, taking the laptop and setting it on the ledge by the window. He didn’t speak as he took a brown package from his backpack and handed it to Yuri.

Yuri read the label and his blood churned, transforming into a heady cocktail of anticipation and longing. It was from Moscow.

Grandpa.

The fingers on his good hand moved of their own volition, tearing at the tape and cardboard until he thought the better of his frenzy. He couldn’t risk damaging anything from Grandpa so despite his eagerness he opened it slowly, took out a little wooden box and a handwritten note and the second he saw that box he _knew_. 

He was used to his body betraying him and letting the tears through by now, but that didn’t make it any easier, especially in front of Otabek. His shoulders ached as he fought to contain the hiccuping beginnings of full-on sobs.

“My music box,” he sniffled. The room blurred and he wiped his eyes, stashing the note under the sheets so his tears wouldn’t stain it. “From when I was a baby.”

Otabek rested a hesitant hand on his shoulder, far lighter than normal. But it was there. 

He opened the box and was met with a nostalgic, lilting song that took him right back to the days when his grandpa had tucked him into bed and told stories of knights and dragons to take his mind off the hunger gnawing at his belly. In the center of the music box a splendid ballerina held the hand of a one-legged soldier as they danced their ephemeral love.

Yuri had heard that story, too. And the ending wasn’t happy. He gazed down grimly at his legs and shut the music box.

“The letter,” Otabek reminded him, voice feather-light and entirely unfamiliar.

Yuri nodded, chasing images of broken soldiers and prima ballerinas from his head, and wiped his face one more time before carefully unfolding the paper to gaze down at his grandpa’s familiar, messy handwriting.

_Dear Yurotchka,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Every day since you were found I have thanked God that you survived that plane crash. I’ve been recalling the day you were born and the first time I held you in my arms. Sometimes I still catch myself thinking you’re a young child that must be protected, but you have grown into an exceptional young man, and God would not give you a challenge you could not overcome._

_My sweet grandson, I have not said this enough these past years. I left you to draw your own conclusions. But if I haven’t been able to make it clear: I love you. I am proud of you. And I will always be here for you, no matter what it is you need._

_When you return home there will be a mountain of pork cutlet pirozhki waiting for you._

_Love,_

_Grandpa_

A wet droplet smacked the note and Yuri scrambled to stash it back in the box where his crying couldn’t damage it.

Otabek had been waiting patiently, gaze focused discreetly on the floor and not over Yuri’s shoulder. When Yuri moved it caused him to jump as though he’d been startled.

“Yura-” He hesitated, eyes roving the room and focusing anywhere but Yuri’s face. “How do you feel?”

“I don’t fucking know,” Yuri laughed weakly. “I don’t even fucking know. God, I miss him so much.”

“Dr. Wang says they’ll be able to move you out of the ER soon, and then you can fly home-”

Calm, soft thoughts vanished as Yuri choked on a white-hot surge of terror. “Fly?”

“Yeah…” A stranger wouldn’t have known Otabek was uncomfortable, but to Yuri the way his mouth tightened at the corners was a dead giveaway. “But I’ll be with you for the first part of the trip.”

“I’m not flying.” Yuri shook his head until his vision began to spin. “I’m not fucking flying, Otabek.”

“We hardly have a choice,” Otabek sighed. He stood and got his laptop from the ledge then brought it over, as if he had something that could possibly change Yuri’s opinion on the matter. “Look, we can bus to Ürümqi-”

“Then I’ll steal the bus and drive it back to Moscow,” Yuri snapped.

Otabek dragged a hand down his face. “There are buses from Ürümqi to Almaty, but then what, Yura? Bus four thousand kilometres back to Moscow with two broken legs, all on your own?”

“Watch me.” 

Otabek shook his head and looked away, but if he thought Yuri was joking he was _damn_ wrong. Heat rose in his cheeks as he reached over with a shaking hand and turned his friend around to face him again. “I am not. Setting foot. On an airplane. Ever again. And you can’t fucking tell me to! You think you’re better than me now, just ‘cause you shrugged off the crash like it was nothing-”

A hand was clenching his and Otabek’s face was just inches way before Yuri had time to register anything. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. Stop fucking pushing me away by saying things you don’t mean. You’re not fooling me and you know you’re not fooling yourself either.”

The words etched themselves right into Yuri’s bones, stroke by agonizing stroke. His mouth had gone dry.

“I- I’m sorry- Beka, oh, oh my god, I’m sorry.”

“You don’t hear them at night.” Otabek dropped his hand and stood, arms crossed and face hidden as he stared out the window. “You don’t wonder if you could have saved them. You don’t ask yourself if you’re responsible. If you were being selfish and letting others die by prioritizing your… your friend.”

Hysterical fear reverberated through Yuri’s body and he could do nothing to quell it. He always did this, he always fucking did this. “Beka, I... I shouldn’t… f-fuck…” 

“I’ll talk to my mother about sleeper buses and come back whenever we figure out a plan.” Otabek still wasn’t looking at him, and it was tearing his heart right out of his fucking chest. “Might be a few days.”

“Beka…” His chest hurt. Everything hurt. “I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Otabek packed his laptop away and slung his backpack over his shoulders. Yuri caught a glimpse of his face and oh god, it was _raw_. “So am I. I just need time, Yura.”

Yuri swallowed once, twice, three times to get words past the lump in his throat. “You were right. What you said.”

Otabek stepped toward the door and made a sorry attempt at the taciturn face that always came so easily to him. “I’ll be back. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon. I promise. I just need to be alone right now.”

Yuri must have managed some semblance of a nod despite his shaking, because Otabek nodded back and left, shutting the door quietly and leaving him alone. Because of something he’d said. Again.

The balloons and flowers felt more like mockery than well-wishes. Yuuri’s kind messages and Grandpa’s letter were sharp reminders of his own inability to be a decent fucking human being. 

Yuri gave up and just let the tears fall freely. He was so fucking tired of fighting them, tired of fighting his feelings for Otabek, tired of fighting people who just wanted to help him.

He was surrounded by so much love, so why did he always shove it away?


	3. Precipice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow this is late and short but hey you cant rush mediocrity
> 
> i figured it was better to publish it and get the tough bit over with so i could keep going, even if it was shorter than the other chapters
> 
> sorry!!

If Yuri had thought a day of waiting was bad, then nothing could have prepared him for four days of sitting around and hoping Otabek hadn’t forgotten about him. 

He’d been moved out of his private little cubby in the ICU and now shared a room with three other patients, separated only by baby blue curtains and headphones that had quickly become a permanent accessory. He’d listened to every song on his new phone at least twenty times; it was the only way to drown out the incessant slurping from the old man next to him. The guy drank water 24/7 and if they hadn’t both been in the hospital Yuri was positive he’d have given the guy a particularly loud and opinionated piece of his mind by now. 

Every little thing about the new room tried his patience, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hide behind closed eyes and the music that the Katsukis had loaded onto his new phone. The nurses had been decent, at least; they respected his boundaries and helped him take care of nasty bodily shit without putting him through any unnecessarily invasive questions or procedures. He’d even had his first shower since waking from the coma, and it’d felt like heaven on earth.

But no matter how they tried to make him feel at home, Yuri just wanted to leave. He ached to claw his way out of this ugly, sterile purgatory where the other patients never shut up and he was left alone to stave off the hungry predators that always lingered at the edges of his thoughts. It took all his mental energy to keep Otabek and skating and the rest of his fucking life out of his mind. He was running himself into the ground just to stay sane and the reality of his hopeless situation would be inescapable soon enough.

It felt like an expiry date. Like Yuri was counting down the days until he was forced to acknowledge that he really did die up on that mountain, even if his lungs still drew air and his heart still beat.

Yuri registered the sound of an opening door behind the guitar riff of the song was listening to, but he turned his attention back to the music immediately. The other patients had been getting visitors regularly. It was probably the old man’s wife.

When the couple didn’t start up their chatter Yuri opened one curious eye and nearly jumped right out of his hospital bed.

“Beka!” he squeaked, yanking the earbuds out and tossing his phone to the side. Shit, he wasn’t ready, what if this was it and his best friend was finally going to abandon him like he should have done back when-

Otabek wrapped his arms around him, and to Yuri it felt like home.

His heart thudded like a war drum in the scant space between them, and he was sure it was just as obvious to Otabek as it was to him. Despite his reservations from the last time they’d spoken, Yuri couldn’t bring himself to question this. Since when had such a simple thing as physical contact been able to drain his fears away?

“I didn’t know it’d take so long,” Otabek admitted when he finally pulled away to sit on the edge of the bed. “There was a lot to organize.”

“Organize?” Yuri asked. “Organize what?”

Though he was still ashen and purple beneath the eyes, Otabek offered a tired smile. “The trip back,” he explained. 

Horror rose in the back of Yuri’s throat and he was carried out of the hospital on frantic wings then strapped back into his seat as their plane hurtled toward the rocky peaks below. The oxygen mask kept falling off, the floor was shuddering beneath his feet, the plane was screaming, the passengers were screaming, he was screaming, he was going to die, he was going to die, _he was going to die-_

Impact. Yuri was wrenched back and forth but when he kept shaking instead of falling into the murk of unconsciousness, he finally managed to latch onto a brief flash of clarity. No pain, no metal screeching, just shaking. He screwed his eyes shut then blinked the ghastly vision away and found Otabek sitting on the side of the bed, hands on his shoulders. His own voice was ringing in his ears and shame curled down the back of his neck as he realized he’d been yelling aloud.

His whole body felt like it was throbbing. “I said I’m not flying,” he gasped, pushing Otabek’s hands off of his shoulders.

“You’re okay,” Otabek said, retreating like he’d stepped too close to an out-of-control bonfire. “You’re here. You’re safe.”

Yuri’s mouth stung with the acrid taste of iron. “I’m not flying,” he repeated.

“Yura.” Otabek sighed and slid off the bed, running a hand through his uncharacteristically unkempt hair. “Why do you think it took so long to plan the trip?”

Yuri scowled until Otabek offered a proper explanation. “We’ll bus most of the way, and then my father will pick us up and drive us the rest of the way home,” he continued. “Then we’ll get you to Astana and you’ll take the train to Moscow.”

“...No flying? At all?” It sounded too good to be true. 

“None.”

“When?” Yuri demanded. 

Otabek averted his gaze and flushed. “Tomorrow, if you’re ready.”

Yuri couldn’t help but feel that once he was home, all his worries would disappear, though he knew it wouldn’t be that easy. At the very least, maybe they’d be easier to manage. Joy trickled out of his chest and took the form of laughter. “Yes, Beka, I’m ready.”

Last time they talked Otabek had been stiff and mechanical but there was something different in the way he held himself today. Yuri fought to put a name to it as the older skater kept talking. “There’s a lot for you to catch up on now that you’re out of danger. Dr. Wang will explain the medical stuff later… but I thought you might want to hear how things have been going in the rest of the world.”

Bitterness coiled around Yuri’s chest but he spoke through the pangs of longing and jealousy. “I do,” he admitted. “I figured you weren’t telling me everything.”

Otabek kept his carefully neutral facade but the brief flutter of his dark lashes betrayed his surprise. Yuri smirked. “Come on, Beka. I’m not on morphine anymore. I can take it.”

“I know, I know.” Otabek kept his eyes trained on the floor and Yuri could have sworn it was himself he was trying to convince.

Yuri pulled him back down onto the bed. “Sit. The chairs in this ward look like torture devices.”

Otabek didn’t protest, and he didn’t flinch when Yuri rested his head on his shoulder. Yuri hoped it was a good sign, and not just practiced self-restraint.

“The investigators found the black box,” he said, Yuri cringed. Sure, he wanted to know why the crash happened, but he didn’t want to have to actually _think_ about it. He shut his eyes as Otabek continued. “They say the crash was caused by mechanical error followed by pilot error. An incorrect repair caused an explosive decompression and the pilot went right for an emergency landing instead of trying to stabilize things. Bad situation handled in a bad way.”

Yuri nodded. He hid his face in the crook between Otabek’s neck and jaw, drawing himself further from his memories with the smell of a cheap substitute aftershave. “Stupid pilots crash planes,” he mumbled, and felt the lightest of rumbling chuckles in return.

“There was talk of cancelling the Trophée de France,” Otabek continued. “They came pretty close, apparently, even though the short program was already over. But I think some execs pulled it through so the entire series wouldn’t have to be cancelled. It was hard to find any specifics. The free skate was a disaster, though. Viktor fell on his quad salchow and nearly missed the podium. A girl in pairs cracked her chin on the ice and had to be taken to the hospital.”

“Just because of the crash?” 

Yuri felt Otabek shrug. “People were shaken. I mentioned there was a vigil afterward. News cameras weren’t allowed, but I heard it was rough.”

“We’ll show them.” The lie was bitter on his tongue, but after all Otabek had done for him, the least he could do was provide a little comfort. “We’ll make them realize it takes more than a stupid plane crash to get rid of us.”

Otabek shifted and pulled away, and Yuri feared he’d taken it too far. Was the bravado too obvious? Were they going to fight again, in this new room, with the other patients for an audience?

“Yura.” There was a tightness in Otabek’s voice, but Yuri wasn’t sure why, and his stoic face wasn’t providing any hints. “You might not remember everything we talked about in the days after you woke up, but I want you to know I never tried to hide anything from you. You deserve better than that.”

Yuri put a hesitant hand on his arm. “I know, Beka. I trust you.”

He watched as Otabek exhaled quietly and stared down into his hands. What was he thinking? 

“But there are things I didn’t say because you didn’t ask.”

“Like what?” Yuri’s voice came out sharper than intended, and he bit down hard on his lower lip as Otabek flinched.

The older skater shut his eyes and clenched the edge of the hospital bed. “Yura, you were clinically dead for six minutes during the helicopter ride back. I was only conscious half the time but when I realized you were dead, I wanted to die too. It wasn’t-- it wasn’t fair that you could die after fighting so hard. I wanted to join you so you wouldn’t be alone.”

Yuri couldn’t move. Could hardly think. “I… I was _dead_?” he croaked.

“It’s why you were in a coma for so long.” It was the closest he’d ever seen Otabek come to crying, and it was fucking terrifying. “They took a gamble because they wanted to make sure you didn’t end up brain dead, but they didn’t know when… if you’d wake up.”

His eyes stung. “Beka…”

Otabek hugged him. Yuri hugged back with all his feeble strength, the words still ringing in his ears. Dead. He’d been dead. 

“There’s a long road ahead, Yura, and not just a physical one,” Otabek murmured into his hair. “It will take years to heal. Maybe we never will. But we survived that crash by supporting each other and I know we can survive the recovery too, no matter what it throws at us. So… will you walk that road with me now? ”

Otabek pulled away and those dark, intense eyes drilled into Yuri’s and broke right through to his soul, leaving him bare and defenseless. Every alarm bell in Yuri’s brain told him to plaster up the breach in his walls but no, he could see what his instinctive fear was doing so this time he grabbed it by the throat and strangled it before it could speak for him. He was so tired of pushing him away. So _fucking_ tired of fighting someone who didn’t deserve the thoughtless, reactionary opposition he had gotten the last two times he’d visited.

Faced with his silence, Otabek reached forward and brushed his cheek, his touch so light Yuri might have imagined it. 

Yuri realized belatedly that he’d started to cry again.

“I’m with you,” he breathed, reaching for Otabek’s hand and covering it with his own. “I’m always with you, Beka.”

Otabek’s sharp breath could almost count for a sob. Yuri managed a fragile laugh as he pulled his friend back into his arms, ignoring the cast and the cramped quarters and his own lingering dread. Right now, Otabek was all that mattered.

-

By that time the next day, Yuri was on the first leg of his journey back home, and he couldn’t have been happier.

The bus was crowded and stank of body odour, and there’d been little to see except rocky hills since they left Ürümqi an hour before, but he was out of the hospital and every kilometre they traveled took him farther from the mountain that’d come so close to claiming his life. Yuri couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the future when he’d finally been given his first taste of freedom.

He’d been staring out the window for hours as Otabek dozed on the other side of the aisle. Behind them his mother read from a dog-eared old novel, but Yuri could feel the occasional sweep of her eyes as she checked on them. She seemed to have approved and adopted him into her brood, though he wasn’t sure when or why and hadn’t gathered the courage to ask.

The bus from Altay had been more pleasant. Otabek had still had the energy to keep his eyes open, and Yuri had bombarded him with questions. How long would it take to get to Almaty? _(A day or two.)_ What was the rest of his family like? _(Loud. Large. Perfect.)_ Did he have pets? _(We own a stable, Yuri.)_ You own a stable? Really? _(Co-own, technically.)_ Like with horses and shit? _(No, we ride ostriches.)_

But there was something to be said for watching the rocky hills roll by, too, at least so long as he had music to block out the background din of his own brain. 27% power for a trip that wasn’t even halfway done, but maybe at the next rest stop he could charge it for a while. If not… well, Otabek would understand if he woke him, right? They were both familiar with the hungry fears that lingered in the back of the mind, that waited for the opportunity to take hold and grow like cursed strangling thorns. This time, at least, Yuri had learned from his mistake. He knew Otabek was suffering too, in his own quiet, self-sacrificing way. And he could only hope that he was able to make good on the promise he’d made yesterday, because Beka was right. The only way they were going to get through this was by helping each other.

The previous song ended, and the next one to shuffle on was Welcome to the Madness. Yuri hoped it was a good omen, that he’d find a way to climb back up to the height he’d been at that day. The sun was shining, he had Otabek with him, and now that he was out of the hospital he was ready to fight tooth and claw to find a new place for himself.

_I know it's crazy_  
_the world we live in_  
_I might be crazy_  
_to believe in_

Across the aisle, Otabek rose from his nap and rolled onto his side. He fished out his phone- also new, given to him by his mother- and tapped away a message before setting it down at his side. 

There was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, and Yuri couldn’t help his curiosity. He paused his song and asked, “Who was that?”

“A friend of mine. He wants to meet up when we get back to Almaty. And he’s asking if you’ve ever gone tobogganing down a mountain at night.” It might have been Yuri’s exhaustion clouding his judgement, but he was pretty sure Otabek was smirking.

So he made a deliberate show of raising his brows as high as he could. “That sounds stupidly dangerous. Tell him I’m in.”

At the very least, the damage to his legs made it a lot easier to justify stupid decisions. 

Otabek’s mother just tsked and sighed in resignation, and Yuri got the feeling she was used to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> who's the friend?
> 
> you might know him if you've read [neon pink motorcycle](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9946940/chapters/22266254).


	4. Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw u realize ur fic should have been longer but ur tryin desperately not to make it run on past its lifespan

They stopped often over the course of the trip, and the bus continued to accumulate passengers until there were no cots left available. Near nightfall they passed through the small city of Kuytun and took an extended break so that the driver and passengers could find something to eat. It was a small but beautiful city, sunny and not as cold as expected. Yuri spent most of his time scowling at strangers or making clumsy small talk with Otabek’s mother in the hopes of mustering a good impression. After eating their fill of lengmen and soup they re-boarded the bus and continued on toward the border, and Yuri did his best not to worry about the taciturn silence that had fallen over Otabek. It was… different than his usual veneer. There was something behind it, but Yuri doubted he could pry an answer out of his friend in a setting like this. So he waited.

After leaving Kuytun the road grew uneven and bumpy, but Yuri had no trouble falling asleep. He’d left the hospital with a rickety folding wheelchair but getting in and out of it was a nightmare, and sitting in it for an hour or two hurt his ass almost as much as a hard fall on the ice. 

Otabek carrying him back onto the bus and laying him down on his cot had almost made it worthwhile, though. 

Since his phone had run out of power on the way to Kuytun and he hadn’t had a chance to recharge it, Yuri dozed until their arrival in Khorgas at noon the next day. He’d spent another few hours sitting in the Hellchair as they waited to get through customs, shooting sharp glares at anyone who dared to stare or toss him so much as a vaguely sympathetic look. Making conversation with Otabek hadn’t gone very well either; he hadn’t changed since yesterday. Yuri wondered if this was just how he acted around his parents, if it was normal for him to put himself on mute like that. Or it could be the exhaustion and the trauma of everything they’d gone through. But even if it had been a good time to ask, Yuri wasn’t sure he was ready to hear an answer yet.

With customs out of the way and their scant baggage checked, they’d been free to board the bus again, and not long after they were on their way to Almaty.

The G312 became the A351. Rocky hills rose up into stout, tightly packed mountains then gave way to snowy, forested peaks. And Yuri watched as the unfamiliar emptiness in Otabek’s eyes gave way to an energetic light he had never seen before.

“I recognize this town. We should arrive in an hour,” he said. 

“How long am I staying?” Yuri asked. Every part of him ached to be with his grandpa, but as soon as he left, he knew he would ache for Otabek too. Of all the uncertainties that lay ahead, not knowing how long it’d be before they could spend time together again was one of the worst. 

“Until the ninth. Then we’ll drive you up to Astana,” Otabek responded. There was an edge to his voice that Yuri couldn’t discern, but it had been twenty four hours and he was tired of standing by and waiting for Otabek to offer some clue to what was going on in his head, so he extended his good hand across the aisle.

Otabek took it with a smirk, and Yuri blinked in surprise when realized the edge had been impatience. “We’ll spend tonight with my family, but tomorrow we can do whatever we want,” Otabek said. “You’re going to see Almaty. _My_ Almaty.”

A thrill scurried up Yuri’s spine. Maybe he’d taken a page from Katsudon’s book and started worrying for nothing. “Good. I’m sick of lying in beds and looking out windows.”

“And tomorrow night we’re still going tobogganing,” Otabek added. His face transformed into a daring, sinister mask as they passed under the brief light of an intersection. “Unless you’re too scared.”

“Who the _fuck_ do you think I am?” Yuri grinned. He had no idea what had brought out this side of Otabek, but he liked it. Maybe it was something in the air, the same something that had clouded their heads during his exhibition skate in Barcelona.

“Language,” Otabek’s mother sighed, and Yuri clapped a hand over his mouth. It was at least the twentieth time she’d reminded him, and while Otabek seemed unconcerned- maybe even amused- Yuri was trying _really_ hard not to make his best friend’s family hate him. 

“Sorry ma’am,” he ushered, and only then remembered that she’d asked him to refer to her by her first name. Fuck. He buried his face in the sheets of his cot to hide his blush, missing the fond smile shared between mother and son. 

-

The moment they arrived home in a cramped taxi, Otabek had been buried alive by his truly massive family. Yuri had remained on the periphery: sitting in the hated Hellchair, taking in the expansive property, speaking when spoken to, and trying not to infringe on such a deeply personal reunion. It was too crowded for his taste anyway, he told himself; meeting up with his grandpa would be a hundred times better. At least until they had to talk about how to keep the family afloat, but that wouldn’t come right away, surely. 

He sat on a hardwood window sill, gazing out at the peaks and sandy arenas that made up the little piece of heaven that Otabek’s family owned as he waited for his friend to finish showering upstairs. The house itself was a 20 minute walk away through a path that wound between towering evergreens; the family had agreed that it’d be best for Yuri and Otabek to stay at the lodge where there were a number of spare rooms to choose from. The family home was crowded and Otabek’s childhood room had been converted to storage many years ago when he’d left to train in America.

Yuri wanted to remain optimistic. The two of them were in this together for better or worse. They’d promised as much. But with so much support from family- and friends, apparently- did Otabek really need his help? Or would he realize sooner or later that Yuri was a burden he couldn’t afford to carry? 

The thought was unbearable, but Yuri didn’t shy away from it. He’d already resolved to face reality head-on instead of shying away like he had when he’d first awoken. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned away from the window, forcing away the temptation to lose himself in the mocking beauty of the mountain range that rose before him.

He was a sixteen year old punk with metal rods in his ruined legs and no skills to speak of now that the ice had been ripped away from him. His winnings from last year would keep his family afloat for a year at most.

He’d find something before time ran out. The crash might have ruined his career, but hell if he was going to let it put his family on the streets. There had to be something out there he could do- he just had to _find_ it.

But was it really fair to expect Otabek to stay by his side as he rearranged what was left of his sorry life?

A buzz from across the windowsill reminded Yuri that he’d finally had a chance to charge his phone. He reached over to unplug and check it.

Yuuri had sent a photo of himself and Viktor standing beneath some ornate arch, striking stupid poses and making hearts with their hands. It was captioned with a simple _We love you Yurio!_

Four short words but it felt like a punch in the gut. Yuri held his phone to his chest, trying to wipe his eyes preemptively with his injured arm. What was it about those assholes that led them to just say shit like that out of the blue? He could almost forgive that they were back to using that stupid fucking nickname. Almost.

_Have fun wherever u are,_ he sent back. A [...] appeared almost immediately, and Yuri wished he hadn’t replied so soon.

_Katsudon: We’re in Marseilles! I think Viktor has bought more gifts for you than he has for himself so far, but you didn’t hear it from me._

Oh. Right. The GPF. Yuri glared up at the evening sky and huffed out a long breath before replying.

_Yuri Plisetsky: If the geezer is distracted with shopping then maybe the piggy will have a chance at snatching gold this time. If he’s lucky._   
_Katsudon: Oh Yurio, that’s so nice of you! (✿´‿`)_   
_Yuri Plisetsky: Never talk to me ever again_

Even with no audience to speak of, Yuri made a dramatic show of rolling his eyes then tossing his phone gently at the window. Fucking Katsudon wouldn’t even let him wallow in his own misery, apparently.

In a field below the sunroom Yuri sat in, two teenaged girls rode around a field full of brightly painted jumps. A man standing by a fence, one of Otabek’s uncles, he’d learned, seemed to be shouting terse instructions at them.

A pang of longing spread through his chest like somber blue watercolour. Yuri never would have guessed there’d come a time when he’d miss Yakov’s red-faced blustering.

On the other side of the property, a black SUV pulled up to the front of the lodge and honked. Yuri blinked curiously, but from where he sat he could discern nothing about the driver or any occupants. Another family member, maybe. Just when he thought he’d seen every face, a new one appeared and brought with it another name he knew he would forget by tomorrow. Yuri had never cared that he was shit with names until now.

Socked feet pattered down the spiral stairs in the middle of the room. Moments later Otabek appeared in a dark brown bomber jacket and worn blue jeans, hair still wet and unkempt. He looked gorgeous and it wasn’t fucking fair.

Yuri flushed and tried to play it off as frustration as he approached. “Katsudon’s being an ass.”

“Then ignore him.” Otabek nudged the Hellchair over and Yuri eyed it dubiously. “Come on,” he urged. “We’ve got a visitor.”

Yuri recalled the back-and-forth between Otabek and his friend during the bus ride. He slid suspiciously into the chair and took his phone with him anyway.

The lodge’s patio staircase was beautiful, built from dark sandstone and expanding outward like a lava flow. Unfortunately, it didn’t come with a ramp. Yuri let out the most undignified of squeaks as Otabek swept him up, flimsy wheelchair and all, and carried him down to the bottom of the steps.

He was still regaining his bearings when the driver of the SUV stepped out. Otabek was gone from his side in an instant, just about tackling the stranger into a hug that had all sorts of discontented snakes gnawing at Yuri’s insides. He was forced to watch from a distance and shiver in the December chill as the two laughed and continued to embrace for far longer than Yuri was comfortable with. 

Not that there was a reason he ought to be possessive of Otabek. Not even when he was a sack of broken bones and this stranger looked like some sort of punk rock Adonis who’d just stepped off a magazine cover.

The stranger finally noticed him. “Hey!” he shouted in enthusiastic Russian.

Yuri tried not to glare. “Hey.”

“So you’re the guy responsible for keeping Beks out of trouble when things went sour? Looks like I owe you my thanks.” The young man swept wavy blond bangs out of his eyes and offered his hand, coupled with a winning smile. “Name’s Kadyr.”

“Yuri.” He extended his good hand cautiously and was wholly unprepared for the enthusiasm that nearly pulled him out of his seat when Kadyr shook it. 

The riders from the field passed by on their horses, heading for the stable on the other side of the field. As Yuri righted himself he saw one of the girls tossing a wide-eyed backwards glance at Otabek and wow, the attacks were coming from all sides weren’t they. Just great.

“So, we still on for tonight?” Kadyr asked with a decidedly mischievous glint in his eyes. 

Given what they’d been planning on doing, Yuri couldn’t exactly call the look unwarranted. He did his best to summon a game face, because no way was he getting shown up by some… whatever the hell this guy was. How did he even know Otabek?

“Yeah, not like there’s anything else to do out here,” he muttered, trying to come off as cool and detached but perfectly aware that he only managed to sound whiny and petulant.

As he opened the car door, Kadyr grinned over his shoulder and said something to Otabek; since Yuri could barely understand a word of it he assumed it was Kazakh and instantly grew suspicious.

Otabek’s response as they got in sounded like some sort of parry or rejoinder, at least to Yuri’s ears. This was even worse than Viktor and Katsudon speaking Japanese and making eyes at each other during practice. 

He rested his head against the window, crossed his arms, and put on his most dramatic, overstated pout.

Otabek grinned back at him and there was a light, a _fondness_ in his eyes that made it nigh impossible to be upset with either of them. A smile like that and Yuri could forgive just about anything.

“We’re going to- Yura? You ok?” Otabek’s face fell into mild worry, and Yuri was pretty sure he’d been more expressive in the weeks since the crash than in their entire first year of friendship. Something about near-death experiences, maybe. Yuri hadn’t quite been himself either.

“No,” he bluffed, doing his best not to let a rogue smile sneak onto his face and give him away. “Not until you put some damn music on.”

Kadyr shared a knowing look with Otabek. “I think I can fix that.”

By the time they made it off the property and onto the main road the windows were open, the entire SUV was thrumming with the sound of Bassnectar and Deorro, and Yuri was maybe, just _maybe_ reevaluating his first impression of Kadyr.

As he found out, Kadyr’s dad was a higher-up at some big-name ski resort, and it was no trouble to sneak out after the slopes had closed to the public for the day. It was… pretty cool, actually, to have a whole mountainside to themselves.

It was nice not to be treated like a porcelain doll, too. Even before the crash Yuri had always hated the delicacy that had been thrust upon him, and it was a thousand times worse now. Granted, his broken bones were inescapable obstacles in a lot of cases, but it had seemed natural for Kadyr to suggest tobogganing instead of skiing or snowboarding. No condescending comments, no backwards looks, and thank god, no pity. Just an insistence that the two of them dress warm, or else they’d lose whatever toes they still had.

Strange, in retrospect, how he was able to say something like that without coming off like an asshole.

Yuri had free range of the rental equipment, and quickly picked out a big black winter coat, a grey fleece hat, and neon pink snowpants. He could probably have made the look work if he’d had leopard print gloves or boots. 

The ski hills were newly opened at this time of year, freshly manicured and carefully groomed to avoid collisions with trees. Not that Yuri was worried about wiping out and worsening his injuries or anything.

A short exchange of words (and tenge) with the lift operator seemed enough to convince him to stay another half hour and read his magazine as the three rode to the top of the highest peak, snowboard and unwieldy purple toboggan at the ready. 

Yuri found himself chatting more with Kadyr than Otabek on the way up. He tried, multiple times, to goad Otabek into joking around with them. But his best friend just stared out intently at the twilit horizon, his mouth set in a grim line that might have been unextraordinary if he hadn’t been so bizarrely _expressive_ all day. Yuri recalled that he still had to ask about the funk from that morning- maybe he’d mention this too. Otabek had been right when he said they both had to get through this together, and Yuri was no expert but he was pretty sure that meant communicating.

The sky was lit in hues of royal purple and ultramarine when they made it to the top. Kadyr swept Yuri off the lift chair with ease and sat him in the snow then plopped down next to him. Otabek laid the toboggan to the side, still drawn to some distant mirage only he could see. 

Yuri tried to follow his gaze only to find that was aimless. Given where they were, he was starting to suspect what was on Otabek’s mind. But they were here to have a fun, reckless night, and he wasn’t about to let bad memories get the better of either of them.

He dragged himself to the sled instead, climbing on awkwardly and holding his arms open so Otabek would just join him already.

Kadyr stood, snowboard at the ready, and said something else in Kazakh. Not only did it get Otabek’s attention, but it made him blush and trip over his own boots.

After that, it wasn’t so hard to focus on sliding down the hill and starting their descent.

 

With a little combined effort, they made a fine night out of the short time they’d been given. Kadyr sprayed snow into Yuri and Otabek’s faces at _least_ four times when they came to a stop together at the end of each run, and miraculously, nobody ran into a tree or aggravated any crash-related injuries. Sleep was tugging at Yuri’s eyelids by the time they made it back to the car. Otabek and Kadyr spent most of the drive catching up- in Russian this time- and Yuri lasted ten minutes at the most before he caved, let out an earth-shattering yawn, and finally let his eyes close. He didn’t remember much of the ride back to the lodge after that.

What he did remember was that it was the best night he’d had since leaving the hospital in Altay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cheers to those of you who guessed kadyr :P
> 
> //hey [feya](http://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheart/pseuds/goldheart) the blood debt has been repaid but im still not over u cameoing kieran tbh


	5. Little Tin Soldier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tried to find a beta bc this was quite an important chapter, but ended up having to edit solo. feel free to tell me if you see any errors!

Yesterday had been a blur of excitement as Otabek raced to show Yuri as much of Almaty as he could in such a short time. His elementary school, an underpass where he and his friends had spray-painted their initials as kids, and then onward to the more touristy parts of the city. By afternoon they’d spent most of their energy and decided to do some shopping at Dostyk Plaza to replace clothes they’d lost in the crash. In the evening they’d met up with Kadyr again at some hipster-type cafe, and by nightfall Yuri could almost have pretended that he’d just come down to visit, that the Cup of China and Flight 123 were nothing but a haunting nightmare. 

Almost. Mind over matter couldn’t fix broken bones, after all, and god he was looking forward to being able to use his legs again. Yakov had gone and paid for him to attend the best orthopedic clinic in Moscow, which was embarrassing as fuck, and didn’t make much sense either since it wasn’t exactly the kind of investment that’d pay for itself over time. After all, Yuri would walk again, but his career was over. The whole skating world knew that, judging by the number of messages that’d bombarded him when he’d tried to log into Twitter on the drive back to the lodge.

He had pointedly ignored them instead, abandoning his phone for the warmth of the fireplace, the sweetness of a mug of honeyed tea, and the security of his best friend’s arms around him.

The next day had been spent almost exclusively in the backseat of a car. Yuri hadn’t known exactly how long the drive from Almaty to Astana was, but it still managed to be a lot longer than expected. With his father at the wheel, Otabek wasn’t particularly good company, either. They’d spent the better part of the sixteen-hour drive dozing or listening to each other’s music. Waking up at four in the morning didn’t lend itself to great conversation anyway. Against his better judgement, Yuri let his mind wander.

 

Astana was a beautiful city, but Yuri hated what it stood for. The upscale hotel was obscenely luxurious, even for a rich family like Otabek’s, but the perfumed hallways and shining mirrors in the elevators did nothing to distract him from the inevitable. By this time tomorrow he’d be on the train and he’d have no idea when he’d be able to see Otabek again.

They each had their own room, but it was ten at night and Yuri had no plans to let Otabek leave any time soon, even though they’d long finished their nighttime routines. They’d only been here two hours, and after sleeping most of the day he was wide awake and intent on spending as much time as possible together before he had to leave. 

The two of them sprawled across the queen-sized bed, Otabek ever-vigilant of Yuri’s legs and Yuri trying to tangle them together anyway. He’d long forgotten about the television and the shitty action-thriller they’d picked out; he was focused solely on Otabek, on the way his brow furrowed when he was considering something, the subtle, thoughtful wiggle of his hips, the way his kicking feet betrayed his contentedness even when his face was expressionless.

Okay, so maybe Yuri hadn’t gotten over the nasty case of feelings he’d developed back in Altay. Maybe he was all kinds of screwed. And maybe it’d been on his mind during the drive to Astana, but what else was he going to do? Just not think about it? 

“We’re going to video chat as soon as I get back to Moscow,” he decided, leaving no room for argument. “Potya will be there, I think. Lilia said something about dropping her off with Grandpa. So you can say hi to her too.”

Otabek rolled onto his back, gazing idly at the tv. “Why wait that long? I’ll keep my phone charged and you can call whenever. Better than texting anyway. Texting is stupid. There’s no way to tell what someone means.”

It was a battle they’d had time and again, to the point that they both knew the other wouldn’t budge and it had devolved into a game of playful taunting. Yuri wished he could’ve kicked him. “Hey, it’s your own fault if you hate emoji so much, but the rest of us know how to use them,” he teased.

“They’re immature and vague!” Otabek sat up and frowned. “Half the time I have no idea what you’re even saying.”

“Well, eggplant and peach are for-”

“Yura!” Otabek covered his face with both hands.

Yuri was impatient, had too much energy that he couldn’t get rid of, didn’t want to leave Otabek tomorrow. So he pushed his luck. “And sometimes there’s tongue and eggplant, or tongue and peach, and you can get really creative with fingers too-”

“Nobody ever sends me any of those.”

Yuri had already made his bad decision. “I could change that.”

Otabek dropped his hands and fixed him with a sharp stare that froze the convivial atmosphere around them. Yuri felt like he was being turned inside out but he met the look with his own bold smirk and tried not to let his lower lip shake. Fuck.

“It was inevitable, wasn’t it,” Otabek sighed. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, patting the spot next to him. Yuri wasn’t not sure whether he wanted to follow along, hide under the covers, or sprint from the room, but one option was impossible and the other was useless, so he crawled over as well as his legs would allow him.

“It’s been long enough that whatever it is you’re thinking can’t just be delirium or boredom. So talk,” Otabek continued. As if Yuri could just do that when he was locked in the wary, critical gaze of someone who meant the world to him, someone who could get up and leave in the blink of an eye if he didn’t like what he was hearing.

Words didn’t come. Yuri tried to squeeze something out, even just affirmation that he’d heard what Otabek said, but his whole body was locked up. _Now or never,_ he tried to tell himself. _You wanted this, you started this. Stop being a coward._

“Yura…” Otabek murmured, reaching for his good hand. Yuri watched in slow motion as their fingers twined together, but he couldn’t feel anything. 

He was trapped in his own head and he wanted _out._

“I love you,” he blurted, thinking it’d release him from his paralysis. It didn’t.

Seconds stretched out. Otabek blinked, swallowed. Looked out the window at the vivid skyline that surrounded them. 

“Love is more than suggestive texts,” he finally replied, and Yuri wanted to laugh almost as much as he wanted to throw up. The back of his throat tasted like iron. 

“If you don’t feel like that then tell me.”

“I didn’t say that.” Otabek’s fingers tightened around his. “But I’m not interested in a relationship built on lust alone.”

There was a scream building in Yuri’s chest, a light, heady feeling that could have been exasperation or elation. “Shut up, you know it’s fucking both. Don’t tell me you didn’t figure it out, you’re not fucking stupid.”

“Yura-” Otabek’s voice caught as though he’d tripped. He squeezed his eyes shut, brow furrowed, and Yuri could swear he felt his own heart imploding under the weight of Otabek’s silence.

It felt like an eternity before he continued. “I am… I do feel the way you do.”

The frost on Yuri’s skin turned to fire and he fought a searing need to let the storm inside him overflow, to yield to the pressure tugging at the corners of his eyes, to demand a better explanation. 

Otabek held up a hand before he could interrupt, and Yuri was left only with tears. “I only realized how I felt when I was about to lose you, Yura. And I don’t have… you deserve someone who can protect you when you can’t protect yourself.”

Yuri scoffed to hide a sob. Seriously? They were going to play this game? “Well I’m alive, so I’d say you did a good job.”

Otabek stood and stalked to the window, leaving a cold draft where the warmth of his presence had been just moments ago. “Yeah, you and who else? Not Li Mingxia. Not Nadia or Andrei. Not Kaito. They’re gone and it’s all my…”

Maybe Otabek wanted to let the sentence tamper off. But Yuri didn’t. “Go on,” he hissed. “I want to hear you say it. So you know how bad it sounds.”

“But it’s true.” Otabek’s voice cracked and his shoulders began to shake, and Yuri was pretty sure he was crying. Great, he could join the club. He deserved it for being such a dumbass. Of all the ways this could have gone, Otabek trying to play the martyr was the least predictable, and probably the most laughable. Yuri had been prepared for rejection, had expected it, even, but not for a shitty reason like this.

He ground his teeth. “Turn around and fucking look at me, Beka.”

Though he was outlined by the blues and yellows of the city, Otabek’s knuckles were visibly pale. He clenched the windowsill like it was the only thing tethering him to reality. “I _can’t_.”

Yuri wanted to scream at him until he understood how fucking irrational he was being. Until he could look him in the eye and agree that none of those people’s deaths had been his fault. 

But he couldn’t. Otabek was already being unfair to himself; Yuri couldn’t just barge in on whatever he was thinking and go about making it even worse. So he bit back the venom until it subsided, even as the silence lengthened and welled between them. All the progress he’d made in holding down his rage wasn’t worth much if he let it tear them both apart in a moment like this. 

Otabek was hurting. Yuri had suspected as much since they left Kuytun. Maybe even as early as their hospital visits, though he remembered those hazily at best. It wasn’t exactly the same as a physical injury, but it would probably still hurt if someone prodded it the wrong way. And Yuri really, _really_ didn’t want to hurt Otabek.

“Alright,” he finally mumbled, unable to help feeling as though all their talks in the past weeks had meant nothing. It was dumb, it sounded like some bullshit Viktor and Katsudon would say if they had to be apart. Except it was real, and it was worse, and knowing that he couldn’t pull his friend out of this tar pit in his brain made him want to die. 

Otabek relaxed his grip on the windowsill. Covered his face with a trembling hand. “I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. It’s… you need to understand that it’s not about how I feel. It’s about what you deserve. And you deserve everything.”

“What if you’re everything?” Yuri murmured, laying back in bed and knowing he’d already lost. The energy that’d been brimming beneath his skin was washing off him in waves, leaving him feeling feeble and exhausted. 

The more he thought about it, the more it was okay- really okay, and not just something he was telling himself to feel better. Otabek needed to worry about getting past the crash before he tried to pull any more weight. His shoulders were broad, but he wasn’t Atlas. 

“I shouldn’t be,” Otabek rasped. He peered over his shoulder, and upon seeing Yuri reclining and staring at the ceiling he sat gingerly on the corner of the bed. Like approaching an angry tiger, and Yuri supposed he was half-right, but the tiger’s fury had drained and pooled around him like his life’s blood, leaving him empty and grey.

Yuri slid out of his hoodie and reached into his suitcase for a striped tank he’d bought in Almaty, taking care around his broken arm. “It’s okay, Beka. I should’ve waited. I just don’t want to leave you tomorrow.”

“It’ll be fine. You’ll get to see your grandpa soon.”

One more choked little sob wrenched itself from Yuri’s chest, just to add insult to injury. “Yeah. I fucking miss him. But I’ll miss you too.” He rolled onto his side and took a gentle hold of Otabek’s forearm. “Will you stay here tonight?”

“Yura… I don’t know…”

His fingers tightened of their own accord. “Please.”

Otabek’s dark, exhausted eyes flickered between him and the door. “Alright,” he finally sighed. “But I might keep you awake. I’ve had trouble sleeping.”

“Why?” Yuri pressed, pulling the older skater down to lie next to him. 

Otabek didn’t resist, but he fell heavily, like his muscles had been replaced with bags of sand. “I see them at night. They ask me why I let them die.”

“That’s your brain playing tricks on you.” Yuri stretched out and yawned then curled into Otabek’s side like he had before the crash ruined their lives. He felt like he’d heard as much before, but it definitely hadn’t been on the bus back or during their time in Almaty. Maybe earlier, when everything had still been a blur of pain and shock.

Time dragged on. Otabek didn’t respond. Yuri drummed slender fingers across his forearm and fought to keep exhaustion at bay and stay awake in case Otabek needed him, but before long sleep took over.

-

Yuri woke slowly. Sat up, rubbed his eyes. Looked down at Otabek. At his sleep-mussed hair, his full lips, the sun dancing over his cheeks.

Then he remembered the events of last night and guiltily redirected his gaze to the alarm clock on his bedside table.

8:21 AM. The alarm was set to go off in nine minutes, but Yuri nudged Otabek’s shoulder to wake him up anyway. He wasn’t about to waste his time moping and pining. It was their last morning together, and it was going to be good, no matter how close they’d come to a fight last night. 

Otabek was a morning person, and he was up and walking around in five minutes, which pissed Yuri the fuck off. “You know who you look like?” he asked as Otabek helped him into the washroom and sat him on the counter.

“Mm?” He stuck a toothbrush in his mouth and waited expectantly for an answer.

Yuri grabbed his own new, unnecessarily complicated toothbrush and slathered it in toothpaste. “Nikiforov, when he prances onto the rink at 6AM and wishes everyone good morning like some kind of fucking heathen.”

Otabek smirked and squirted a dollop of toothpaste onto his finger then booped Yuri on the nose with it. “Jealous.”

“Of fucking morning people?” Yuri snorted, trading his toothbrush for a comb. “You wish, Altin.” 

Once they’d freshened up for the day, they took turns changing. It took Yuri a long time to fit even the loosest jeans he could find over his casts, but he was determined not to ask for help. He let his mind wander instead.

“You didn’t wake me up last night,” he mentioned. “No trouble sleeping?”

Otabek offered a one-shouldered shrug from the desk on the other side of the room, where he’d politely turned his back to wait for Yuri to finish. “Guess we got lucky.”

Yuri pursed his lips as he pulled a faded denim jacket on. “Yeah. Guess so.”

It was clear that Otabek didn’t want to have a conversation about it, but Yuri couldn’t blame him. Even if they slept easier in each other’s company, he was going to be on his way back to Moscow by the end of the day. There wasn’t much point in bringing it up. 

For the same reason, he decided not to raise their conversation from last night either, not even as they checked out of the hotel, got into the car, and headed for the train station.

Yuri had kept his music box in his suitcase for most of the journey, but he took it out in the car and held it close. Soldiers and ballerinas danced at the back of his vision as he watched Astana go by.

The world had insisted he was the prima. But even before the crash, even before his broken legs and missing toes, Otabek had seen him for the soldier he was. If Yuri was the soldier, that made Beka the dancer, but it made sense, really. Even if he’d forsaken ballet, he was free to keep skating. His shoulder wound wouldn’t stop him- the doctors doubted it would even do any permanent damage. He could be winning medals at this time next year while Yuri watched from the sidelines and prayed he wasn’t forgotten.

The same fears that’d plagued him in Almaty came slithering back into his head. Maybe bringing up his feelings had been more than just bad timing. Maybe it was time for Otabek to dance on without him. What right did Yuri have to tether him like that?

Only time would tell. Yuri opened the window a crack to let in a fresh gust of air to clear his thoughts. If he did end up being a burden, then he had to let go for Otabek’s sake. But if his presence had helped keep the nightmares away, then that was proof enough that he couldn’t give up yet. Not if there was even the slightest _breath_ of a chance that his best friend might need him.

“Yura.” Otabek nudged his shoulder and brought him back from his thoughts. “We’re here.”

Though it was cold, the sun illuminated stark blue skies and shone brightly off the station’s sleek glass windows. Yuri had to shield his eyes as he fit his music box carefully back into his luggage then struggled into the Hellchair. At least there were no damn stairs, so Yuri had time to admire the sleek, modern architecture instead of getting jostled around and trying to keep his balance.

“Take a good look around the station,” Otabek suggested as they entered. Like he knew something Yuri didn’t.

Yuri didn’t see why, since all that mattered was the boards listing arriving and departing trains. But he followed along, scanning the ticket booths, the shops selling snacks, the seats-

His vision locked onto a single person sitting near the entrance. Brown beret, salt and pepper beard, soft, knowing smile.

“Grandpa,” he croaked. Then again, louder, as he tried to scramble out of his seat. “Grandpa!”

Otabek kept a careful hand on his shoulder as Nikolai stood and made his way over. Every slow step that he took made it harder for Yuri to breathe, and he still hated crying, but goddamn it if there was ever a reason to cry in front of an entire train station’s worth of strangers, this was it.

Nikolai leaned down, Yuri reached up, and they met halfway.

“Yurochka, my boy.” Yuri could hear a waver in his grandpa’s voice for the first time in… maybe years.

He squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face in the thick wool of his grandpa’s coat. It smelled like old-fashioned cologne, like cigarette smoke, like home. “I missed you,” he whispered.

“You’ve been so brave. So strong to make it this far.” A warm hand on top of Yuri’s head mussed his hair in just the same way it always had when he was a child. “Now let me bring you the rest of the way home.”

Yuri didn’t trust himself to speak. He just nodded.

Their embrace must have lasted an eternity to Otabek and his father, but to Yuri it was gone in just seconds. His grandpa pulled away and cleared his throat gruffly. “And I understand that you, boy, were responsible for keeping my Yurochka alive until the rescuers arrived.”

Otabek hesitated, so Yuri elbowed him until he coughed out a “Yessir.”

“Then I owe you a debt.” His grandpa extended his hand toward Otabek, and Yuri couldn’t quite tell but he was pretty sure something powerful and unspoken passed between them as they shared a firm handshake. There was no point in asking Grandpa about it later, but Otabek, maybe…

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but you’ll want to be ready sooner rather than later,” Otabek’s father said discreetly. “These trains are notorious for leaving a few minutes early. Help them with their luggage, _zhanym_ , and I’ll wait in the car so you can say goodbye.”

Otabek nodded then took Nikolai’s suitcase in one hand and Yuri’s in the other as his father headed back toward the parking lot. With how much shopping they’d done in Almaty, Yuri’s couldn’t be light, but he didn’t complain.

Yuri knew that as the distance between them grew over the next few days, the persistent ache in the middle of his chest would only hurt more. But as his best friend rested both hands on his shoulders, as they locked eyes and the bustling crowd around them slowed to a dreamlike crawl, he was reminded of their promise. If there was one thing he could recall from the mess of days and weeks in the Altay People’s Hospital, it was that.

“There’s a long road ahead, but let’s walk it together, Beka,” he said, cocking his head knowingly.

Tears welled up in Otabek’s eyes. He knelt down and enveloped Yuri in a soft hug. His shoulders shook as he chuckled weakly against the side of Yuri’s head. “Yeah. I’m with you, Yura.”

The line to board was shrinking. Yuri knew they had to leave. As Otabek pulled away and wiped his eyes, Yuri took his hands and smiled up at him as determination settled like molten steel where the pain in his chest had been. 

Even as they said their goodbyes, as he and his grandpa boarded, as the train lurched into motion and they began the long journey home, Yuri refused to let his doubts rise up in place of the resolve that had settled over him. 

True, Otabek had become the dancer and Yuri had been banished to the role of the broken soldier that could only watch from afar. But there had to be a version of the story that ended happily, and if not, then Yuri was going to prove it was possible. The next months would hurt, would make him want to tear his hair out and forsake everything he loved. He’d accepted that. But with Grandpa at his side and an oath to pull through alongside his best friend, Yuri thought he had a pretty good chance of making it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it'll be explained later why nikolai was able to meet yuri in astana. just didn't have space for it in this chapter, felt like it'd break the flow.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got [Twitter](https://twitter.com/vibidi_) and [Tumblr](http://squatchland.tumblr.com/) too!


End file.
